Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4) (5 page)

I suppressed a shudder. “So you’ve all got one of those things in you?”

She nodded slowly. “They sleep, most times. But he knows if one of ’em wakes up…if one of his children tries to tamper with it. And that child is punished.” A haunted expression settled on her face. “This here’s the second time Zoba’s tried. The first time—”

Zoba cut her off with an explosive, guttural sound.

“All right, brother.” Her features closed off. “Anyway, this time we’ve all been summoned,” she said. “And we think Legba means to kill him. That’s where you come in.”

I had to force back a renewed flood of fury. “How?” I said. “Christ, if you think Fae magic can stop this guy, you’ve got Reun. Him and Taeral are both a hell of a lot older and stronger than me. I’m a half-breed, and practically a baby by Fae standards, and I’m not that great with magic.”

“Yeah, but neither of them are the DeathSpeaker,” she said. “You are.”

“That only helps if he’s already dead!”

“He is.” Denei laced her hands together tightly and stared at me. “Papa Legba, he’s nothin’ but thousands of souls all stuck together. Dead souls. And you command the dead,” she said. “So all you gotta do is command him to set us free, before he kills Zoba.”

“Is that all,” I murmured weakly.
Thousands of souls
. Christ, what kind of monster was this guy? But at least I could admit that maybe, just maybe, I had a chance of surviving this. If he really was dead. “Like I said, though, you could’ve just asked me,” I said. “I would’ve helped. Without the threat of imminent death.”

“A
gealdht
does more than risk a Fae’s life,” Reun said. “The spell is a balance. By calling your favor, she’s given you an advantage—the closer you are to realizing the promise, the stronger you’ll become against the challenge. Just as magic weakens when the goal of a promise is further away.” He tipped his head back for a moment, and added, “Believe me. We’ll need every possible advantage in dealing with Legba.”

That, I definitely believed.

C
HAPTER 7

I
t was a thirty-hour train ride from New York to New Orleans. I’d been out cold for three of those hours, and then spent two more recovering and finding out exactly how screwed this whole thing was. That left me with twenty-five hours to kill.

And I wasn’t going to spend them in a confined space with Denei and Reun.

Right now I was rooming with Zoba, Rex and Senobia, while the scheming duo holed up with the other two Duchenes in the next room. Zoba sprawled on the lower bunk, exhausted and glassy-eyed, and the two youngest had squeezed together on the top bunk. They’d offered the other bed to me, but I assured them I’d rather sleep in the chair.

Not that I was getting any sleep.

For a while I just sat there, watching the unfamiliar scenery rush past. I’d been to Louisiana plenty of times—mucked around the swamps and bayous and backwater shanty towns while the family I’d never belonged with hunted gators and bobcats and endangered Louisiana black bears. But I hadn’t been to the Big Easy. The Valentines couldn’t set foot in any major city. They were wanted for just about every crime on the books, and probably some that no one else had ever thought of committing. Hell, they’d made the FBI’s Most Wanted list for the past twenty years.

Of course, that didn’t mean I wanted to see New Orleans by way of kidnapping.

Eventually I decided to do something other than fail to fall asleep. My options were limited. If not for the promise, I’d be finding a way off this damned train right now. I thought about looking for something to eat, but my gut still didn’t feel right. Besides, it was the middle of the night, so the dining car would be closed.

There was a closet-sized shower in the suite’s bathroom. Maybe that would relax me enough to sleep for a few hours.

I got up and wandered into the bathroom. Took a few tries to lock the door, and then I had to sit on the closed toilet to undress in the cramped space. It wasn’t long before I realized my plan was the opposite of relaxing. Taking a shower on a moving train was about as easy as running up a down-moving escalator while carrying live snakes.

After I managed to soak pretty much everything in the room but myself, I gave up and rummaged a towel from the metal cabinet under the sink. I’d just dried off and put my pants back on when someone tried to open the bathroom door. And succeeded.

The unfriendly warning died on my lips when I got a look at Zoba’s face, and his two-seconds-from-puking expression.

I rammed the toilet lid up and pressed myself against the shower door, giving him as much room as possible. His fevered gaze caught mine just before he dropped to his knees like a stone. He bent his head, and what came out of his mouth in a violent gout looked like about a gallon of blood.

That couldn’t be a good sign.

He stayed in place, retching miserably, but at least nothing else came up. If that really was blood, he couldn’t have much left to lose. I eased around him to the sink and wet a hand towel with warm water, then crouched awkwardly next to him and moved to wipe him off a little. He was sweating buckets.

His arm shot out, and he grabbed my wrist hard. And I was suddenly reminded how strong he was. Even in this state, he could break my bones if he squeezed a little harder.

“Hey, man. It’s just water,” I said carefully. “Let me help you.”

He shuddered all over. Then his iron grip relaxed, and he grunted assent.

I managed to mop off his face and the back of his neck. He was already damp with sweat again by the time I finished, but at least it wasn’t running down him in rivers. He pushed himself upright on his knees, and I helped him over to the sink and filled a paper cone with water. “You’ll want to rinse your mouth out,” I said. “Can you do it, or…”

He nodded and took the cup. His hand only trembled a little.

While he finished, I kicked the loose stuff on the floor aside—including my only shirt, which was now soaked. And I was standing here with all my scars exposed. I would’ve been pissed off about that, if I thought Zoba was in any condition to notice.

As it was, I had to wonder if he’d even live until we got to New Orleans. That was a hell of a lot of blood.

I flushed the mess away, closed the toilet lid and rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. He was rigid as stone. “Think you should probably lie down,” I said. “I’ll help you back out there, all right?”

He lifted his head slightly. And someone pounded on the bathroom door.

“What the hell you doing in there?”

Denei’s angry voice didn’t exactly improve my mood. “Back off,” I shouted. “We’re coming out, and you need to be out of the way.”

Without bothering to wait for a reply, I slid an arm around his waist and shuffled him to the door, then through. I didn’t look at anyone as we moved to the bunk, but I sensed that the rest of them had piled into the suite. From listening to the youngest ones talk, I knew the other two Duchenes were named Bastien and Isalie. I still hadn’t met them officially.

Now wasn’t the time to do that.

Zoba had regained a little strength and managed to clamber onto the lower bed himself. I grabbed the top rail for balance, not lifting my head to see if Rex and Senobia were gawking at me like I figured they were, and said without turning, “Get out.”

“Not until I check on my brother.”

At least Denei didn’t sound angry anymore. But her gentled tone did nothing to cool my burning blood. Zoba was too out of it to pay attention to what was under my shirt—but the rest of them weren’t. “Goddamn it, get
out
,” I snarled. “Or turn away, until I can get in the bathroom. By the way, thanks for dragging me fifteen hundred miles away from home with nothing but the clothes on my back, in the middle of winter.”

“Gideon…”

That was Reun. All choked up, like he was about to be sympathetic. “Not a word from anyone. I mean it,” I said. “Just shut up and back off.”

I couldn’t help it. Even if I wasn’t already furious at them, I would’ve reacted like this. All the cover-up tattoos in the world couldn’t hide what the Valentines had done to me over the years—and I hated people staring at me like I was something to be pitied. I didn’t need any reminders to know how awful I looked.

After a silent ten-count, I turned and stalked back to the bathroom. No one looked at me on the way.

Not good enough. The damage was already done.

C
HAPTER 8

M
uch as I wanted to at that point, I couldn’t spend the next twenty-four hours locked in the bathroom. Especially since it didn’t stay as locked as I would’ve liked. I took a few minutes to pull myself together, then put my damp shirt on and went back out.

Reun and the middle pair of Duchenes had left the suite, and the younger ones were either asleep or feigning it. Denei was kneeling beside Zoba’s bunk, talking to him in low tones. She wiped her face quickly before she turned to look at me. “I really am sorry—”

“Just don’t. Please.” I was too exhausted to fend off attempts to interrogate me about the scars, and too angry for sympathy, no matter how well-intentioned. I reclaimed my chair and breathed out slowly. Time to change the subject. “Is he gonna be okay?” I said. “I mean, that looked like straight-up blood in there. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone vomit blood, and I was a paramedic.”

Denei shook her head. “It’s the
ver-géant
making him sick. He’ll suffer until we get to Legba. And if that ain’t soon…” She broke off with a shudder. “I would’ve told you all this before,” she said. “Would’ve asked for help, instead of doin’ this to you. But I knew that brother of yours must’ve warned you off us, and…well, we jes’ didn’t have time to convince you. When Papa Legba summons, you’ve got two days to report.”

“And if you don’t?”

Her features darkened. “Then he collects his final payment.”

Great. I hated this guy already—and that just went a long way toward cooling my anger. At least about being kidnapped. Maybe I wouldn’t have agreed in time, since both Taeral and Sadie’s warnings had been pretty damned terrifying. But I still would’ve rather had a choice in the matter.

And I could definitely do without dying if I failed.

Denei rose and swayed with the train. “Zoba wants to tell you what happened to him last time,” she said. “Thinks you can handle it, on account of your…misfortune. He wasn’t sure before now.”

I bit back a grimace. Guess he wasn’t as out of it as I’d thought. “That’s got nothing to do with anything,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure he can’t tell me shit, since he can’t talk. How does he talk to you, anyway? I always wondered about that.”

“We’re linked.” She tapped a temple. “Him and me, Isalie and Bastien, Senobia and Rex. We come in pairs, y’might say.” The ghost of a smile traced her lips as she looked down at her brother. “Our bonds don’t turn off too easy. So he ain’t all that thrilled about me and Reun, know what I mean?”

Zoba made a sound that was halfway between affection and attempted murder.

“Anyway,” she said. “He cain’t tell you, but he can show you. If you’re willin’ to see.”

I frowned. “How?”

“Jes’ take his hand.” She stepped back from the bunk and gestured. “Know this, though. It will be intense—and it ain’t gonna be easy.”

“Intense?” I echoed.

“You’ll see it, and feel it, like he did. You’ll
experience.
” The corners of her mouth twitched. “I did too, when it happened,” she said hoarsely. “Me and Zoba, we share everything. Good or bad. Right, brother?”

He nodded, and then looked at me. And I saw that desperation in his eyes. The same fear and misery that ruled my life for sixteen years, until I almost killed myself escaping it.

I knelt and took his hand.